Gone Away ~ The journal of Clive Allen in America

Forests
16/08/2006

New England is all about trees. They cover the landscape in cloaking forests, invade the towns, supply the wood that builds the houses and their leaves define the seasons. They are winning the battle against humankind for I read somewhere that, in many areas in the North-east, the trees are reclaiming farms abandoned by those who preferred a softer lifestyle down South.

What surprises me about the trees is their variety. Looking at photographs of the forests in Fall, it is easy to presume that these are deciduous forests, beeches, birches and maples, many of them familiar to Europeans. And so they are, but the pine rules this land too, combining in alliance with the seasonal trees in their claim to the land. There are dark pine forests climbing the slopes of the hills and mountains and firs intermingle with the deciduous trees of the lower regions.

Yet these forests are somehow different from those few left to England. They do not have the height and full, leafy canopy that I am used to; something is missing. I have pondered on this a long time, wondering whether my memory deceived me or whether the trees here, inhabiting so much more an extreme climate than Britain's, have been unable to achieve that uninterrupted green canopy that every English forest creates. But I think I have the answer now.

What is missing is the oak. All English forests attain maturity when the oaks win, when their huge and ponderous bulk eclipses all other trees. They become oak forests, mysterious places of gloom and leafy halls, and this is what I miss in New England.

There are oaks in America; at least, they are called oaks, presumably because of some relation to the English oaks that the early colonists knew so well. But they are not the oaks of home - none of them attain the size and grandeur of the ancient English oak. And they do not rule the forests to become the sole creator of the very definition of "forest".

Further North, I am sure the pines begin to dominate and these mixed forests of New England give way to the endless evergreens of Canada. But here variety rules and the forests are light and airy, with dappled sunshine sprinkling the leaf litter floor. It is easy to imagine Mohawk and Mohican, Iroquois and Algonquin, hunting through the forest glades, tomahawk and bow in hand, for these forests are as American as the English forest is European.

It is not that New England disappoints in any way; merely that it is different from what I had expected. In many ways, the surprise has been how English it is, the narrow, winding roads, the quiet, reserved people, the constantly-changing weather. But that which defines New England in our minds, the forest, turns out to be more American than ever I had imagined.

keeef
Finally you've turned over a new leaf. And what a good one it is. I feel a right sap now for barking on at you.I never twigged that you would branch out along this route. I sense you are pining away, have your dreams of the great American forest turned to ash? Date Added: 18/08/2006

Gone Away
I wooden Fall so fir, Keef. Indeed, I would be a copse before I'd leaf you stranded on the beech. Yew asked for this - now can you cedar wood fir the trees? Date Added: 18/08/2006

Janus
I love walking in the wooden areas. When I was young I used to explore the woods behind my house and thought it was so vast and endless. Now with the new construction around my old home, I see how small and fragile it is.
I would of loved to see alot of places before we came and took over it. I am not against houses...I just wish I could of seen the world before. Date Added: 19/08/2006

Gone Away
I feel very much the same, Janus, especially about Africa. These days I hear about animals on the endangered list through poaching that were so common in my younger days that we became quite blasé about them. But in New England the trees are winning apparently! Date Added: 19/08/2006

Fragile Industries
Nice post. I love a leafy glen, and find great variety among all the world's native forests.
Here in the Golden State, we take great pride in the native oaks. For a brief period during the late winter/early spring rains, they stand out against a lush green background. But in our mediterranean climate, for most of the year, the scene is a study in brown, subtle and sepia-tinged. One almost expects a group of cowboys to appear on the horizon on horseback.
The California oak must look puny and wizened compared to the great English oaks, but their twistings and turnings and seemingly random branch distribution can, in a beautiful old specimen, approach sculptural art, as if Modigliani made a tree then put it in a trash compactor. When I drive the canyons that wind through the coastal mountains, I look for the classic California vista of rolling hills dotted with these survivors, for that is what they are, hardy to heat and cold, long-lived, and now, endangered by a host of pathogens.
Recently, Phytophthora ramorum, a pathogen of such virulence and morbidity that it is commonly known as "Sudden Oak Death" has been decimating old, original oak groves. Arborists are working as feverishly against it as if they were battling Ebola. There are many others, but this is one of the worst threats.
Some communities have become nearly rabid on the topic of oak preservation, sometimes to the point of utter silliness. For example, in the nearby wacky community of Ojai, during the tenure of a mayor so out there she was dubbed "Mayor Moonbeam" by the press (a yoga instructor by day), her primary mayorial controversy was about the fate of three terminal oaks in the town park that were about to fall on the children's playground. You'd think quick removal in the interest of the children's safety would be a no-brainer, but the issue dragged on for months, disrupted every public council meeting, incurred demonstrations, consumed gallons of newspaper ink and kept the playground area fenced off the entire time. On the day the doomed trees finally met their inevitable fate, some zealot actually climbed one of them and refused to come down for about 15 hours. City expense in terms of man-hours, police presence, overtime etc. ran into five digits, a large sum for this little village. Only in Ojai.
So there are tree-lovers and then there are tree-lovers. Date Added: 19/08/2006

Gone Away
Agreed entirely, Fragile. It is amazing how suddenly tree diseases can kill them off, however. Dutch Elm Disease arrived in Britain in the early seventies and, by the time I returned from Africa (1976), my home county of Warwickshire, which had previously been known as "leafy Warwickshire" thanks to its numerous and magnificent elms, had no elms left. Only in the far north of England do a few elms survive and the battle to save them continues.
It sounds to me as though the Californian oak would have its approximate equivalent in England in the Scots pine, which attains no great height but sprouts arbitrarily and in any direction, thereby achieving a huge variety in shape for the type that is somehow very pleasing. They are just made for painting arty pictures of, standing alone on some wind-battered and otherwise barren slope. Date Added: 19/08/2006

Way
Your narrative reads aloud as well as the vivid descriptions offered on this one, Gone. Well done, sir.

I rightly envy the older and more mysterious places you spoke of. That rascal Robin Hood, in my mind, would have washed out, trying to compete with those who originally tread these American woods, and well he should have. And setting his adventurous stories in our nice but tamer forests seems far beyond silly, too: can you picture the Sheriff of Vermont? And can you imagine him being so obsessed? Date Added: 20/08/2006

Gone Away
Thank you, Way.
Gadzooks, sir, you conjure a veritable excellent possible tale, yon Robin o' Sherwood transported to ye olde wildes of Vermont and Massachusetts! Fie upon ye Sheriff of Vermont and a pox upon his posse from New Hampshire! I am sure good Robin, gathering about him a fine band of Mohawk braves, would tweak the scoundrel's beard and win his fair Maid Marian just as in days or fore! Date Added: 20/08/2006

Way
Friar Tuck: Robin. The sheriff came round hyeh asking for yah again.

Funny how stories jell (or do they only gel?) at times. The cavemate supplied me with the following tidbit the day after we read Forests (I cannot verify it anywhere, so out on a limb I slowly creep).

The mighty oak has now been selected as our national tree by some group of sincere arborist.

Oh, and here is a thing which strikes me odd about the oak. After working for nearly 20 years as a paint contractor, I can vouch for it being the number-one choice of carpenters for high-end trim, doors and cabinetry. At least on the blocks where I labored. Now I have seen many an oak tree growing here and there during my years, but I do not recall ever seeing unendless groves of slow-aging hardwoods, which makes me wonder how the continual supply of lumber keeps coming. Date Added: 22/08/2006

Gone Away
I wonder that too, Way. What I can tell you is that, in England, oak was so much in demand for the building of ships around about the Napoleonic period that almost all the old oaks were cut down. Ever since then oak wood has had to be imported from Europe and the forests (what few are left) have slowly recovered. But it is rare indeed to find an oak tree older than two hundred years as a result and those that somehow escaped the carnage have acquired all sorts of legends and stories to do with their ancient past.

It is no wonder that carpenters choose oak before all other woods - it is hard and yet can be adapted to all sorts of uses and will last for hundreds of years. There are 500-year-old houses in England that still depend upon their oak wood frames for support and, of course, oak furniture is highly valued. Date Added: 22/08/2006

Chris Howard
Sorry for coming at this so late, Clive. Great post. I live in New Hampshire, work outside Boston, but after spending several decades in California, I'm just thankful there are trees. (I do have a soft spot for the old gnarled California Golden Oak). I'll take any height, deciduous or evergreen. Half my property is forest (something else I couldn't get in Cal) with a nice mix of pines, maples, white birch, ash, and even a big old willow tree. No oaks nearby, though. The last time I saw a big oak was when I was a kid in Virginia and had to rake up the leaves. Date Added: 27/08/2006

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